


You Can't Be Too Loud

by slytheringheights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Library Sex, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, One Shot, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytheringheights/pseuds/slytheringheights
Summary: Coworkers Hermione and Draco find themselves alone together in the Ministry library the day after his unfortunate--fortunate?--drunken confession.She stopped next to him and bent down, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Do you know what I’ve always wondered?” she whispered, pausing to take in his clean, spicy scent. His quill snapped, finally breaking under the extended pressure.He cleared his throat. With difficulty, she noted.“What’s that?” He had, adorably, tried to sound casual, but his voice was cracked and rough. Poor, tortured thing. She would put him out of his misery—just not yet.“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to get off in a library.”***This smutty good time is set in the library, on top of books. (I had to.)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 34
Kudos: 489





	You Can't Be Too Loud

The silence surrounding them was all they could hear. It was a library, yes, but this was different. Thick. Suffocating. Meaningful. White is not the absence of color, but the presence of all color at once. And this silence was white—not the absence of sound. Far from it.

The Ministry was deserted on the weekends and this weekend especially. The groggy day after the annual Ministry gala was always reserved to fully recover from the unlimited alcohol and the poor decisions that usually tagged along in such situations. With all the buttoned up tension between colleagues unleashed on just one night per year, emotions had run high: bubbling resentment from a denied proposal to improve policies and procedures, simmering attraction between coworkers afraid to cross a line—all of it spilling onto the glossy marble of the grand ballroom in a mix of firewhiskey, fear, lust, and loathing. It was the most highly anticipated event of the year!

Unfortunately, Hermione and Draco’s recovery weekend—the 48 hours needed to carefully rebuild a veneer of self-respect—was cut short. They had a deadline to meet.

Hermione sat at one end of the Ministry’s library table, crowded with a stack of books, and Draco sat at his end, barricading himself behind his own stack. Her mind, always very capable of sorting through multiple complexities at once, was half focused on researching remedies to ancient curses and half wondering if Draco remembered anything he had said last night.

A slight flush flared up her neck as she thought of his drunken confession and she moved to cover the evidence of her wayward thoughts with her hand. She could feel his eyes flicker over to her at the movement. The silence, somehow, rang louder between them.

_“Why do you have to torture me like this, Granger?” He had murmured sloppily, swaying slightly in an empty hallway to the side of the main ballroom. She had needed a break from the kinetic energy in the ballroom—and with four glasses of champagne already churning in her stomach, she needed a break from the passing beverage trays. Out in the hallway, with fewer colors and sounds to distract her senses, she became aware of just how drunk she had gotten._

_“What do you mean?” She didn’t think she had heard him correctly. Although out in the hallway, the slightest sound had seemed amplified. She woozily stepped closer to him to make sure she could hear his response this time._

_“You must know how much I want you,” his eyes had drooped as he staggered forward a step. No longer near enough to the wall for support, he reached out to steady himself on the next closest thing—her. “So beautiful, so smart, so feisty,” each word quieter than the last. She struggled to hold him steady on her own and fell backward with her back pressed against the wall, pulling him with her. He didn’t seem to notice their unstable movements._

_“I can barely stop thinking about you on a normal day,” his breath had felt hot on her shoulder. “Then you show up looking like this,” he then motioned to her snug black cocktail dress. His voice became more agonized. “I’ll never recover.”_

As the dull gray daylight flooded in through windows in the Ministry library, Hermione hazily remembered the goose bumps that had sprang up on every surface of her flesh except the spot on her shoulder where his breath had touched. She remembered the spark of satisfaction hearing that her dress had elicited this reaction, exactly her intention when she bought it. She remembered the warming stir of arousal that the reaction had been _from him_. Her coworker. Her frequent partner on difficult projects. Her former classmate. Her intellectual match. Her crush.

She remembered the sound of her breathing turning heavy, of it being difficult to get enough air in that empty hallway. She remembered her drunken mind trying to piece together the words she had wanted to say. _I want you too. So much._

She remembered the sound of footsteps getting closer. She remembered hearing someone call Draco’s name from a distance. She remembered the small gasp that ricocheted off the walls of the corridor. She remembered seeing Blaise Zabini enter her line of sight, throwing Draco’s arm over his own shoulder. She remembered the tinge of disappointment feeling Draco’s weight shift from her to Blaise. She remembered Blaise saying, “Got pretty sloshed tonight, didn’t he? I’m taking him home. See you at work on Monday!” She remembered watching the two figures move toward the Ministry floo before she moved to do the same. And she remembered feeling suddenly sober and very physically unsatisfied.

Now it was daylight and she wondered if that was her only chance to turn their simmering sexual tension into something more. Did he mean what he said? Does he remember? She chanced a glance at him across the table. His face was tight but blank. His back rigid and his shoulders tense. His typical carefree ease gone.

Yeah, he definitely remembered.

She smiled slightly when she realized he had no idea how she felt. She had never had a chance to tell him. He was usually so self-assured, smug with the knowledge that he was always two steps ahead of everyone else. It’s what kept his charm light and swagger loose—the confidence of knowing your opponent’s next steps before they do. She hated this about him. She hated that she loved it.

She rarely beat him at this game. She had tried, definitely. But he always served it back to her. Game, set, match.

She turned her head so that her gaze was noticeable, direct. She scanned his features—his eyes were locked on the page in front of him, lips slightly pursed, a vein pronounced and pulsing on his pale neck, chest unmoving as his breath stopped entering and exiting his body, knuckles white around his quill. He was fucking terrified. Of her. Of her not feeling the same way.

A rare opportunity, she thought. This was one of the few moments when she was the one two steps ahead.

Her move.

The silence began ringing louder and she knew he could feel her looking at him. Her body tingled with confidence and anticipation.

She stood slowly, smoothing the casual skirt she often wore on the weekends. Flouncy and hitting mid-thigh, she would never wear it to work during the week. Every step she took around the table sounded like a bell ringing its warning loudly from a clocktower. Draco’s eyes remained locked on the page, but his jaw tightened with each clang of her step.

 _Why do you have to torture me like this, Granger?_ His desperate question from the night before echoing around them, unspoken.

She stopped next to him and bent down, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Do you know what I’ve always wondered?” she whispered, pausing to take in his clean, spicy scent. His quill snapped, finally breaking under the extended pressure.

He cleared his throat. With difficulty, she noted.

“What’s that?” He had, adorably, tried to sound casual, but his voice was cracked and rough. Poor, tortured thing. She would put him out of his misery—just not yet.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to get off in a library,” she said as her hand swept down his arms to his tightly fisted hand, still clutching the remains of his broken quill. Her fingers unfurled his, straightening them out to relieve the tension. “Have you ever wondered that, Draco?” She purred his name into his ear.

A pause, and for one brief moment, the deafening silence in the room quieted, as if all of the books gathered around them had waited centuries to find out how this story would end.

“Every day since 6th year, actually.” His voice was still as tight as his fingers under her hands.

“That’s a pretty long time.” She licked the shell of his ear and he gasped, filling his lungs with the air he hadn’t been inhaling since she first looked over at him. “I think we should sate our curiosity.”

With her wand, she swiftly turned his chair to face her.

“Hermione!” He yelped as his hands flew to his pants. The sudden distance from the desk’s shelter hadn’t given him a chance to hide the tell-tale sign of what her torture was doing to him.

“Silencio,” she whispered in a rush. His protestations fell soundlessly from his mouth. “Shh. Draco, we are in a library! You can’t be too loud.” Then she smirked down at his wide-eyed expression. She was still two steps ahead and it felt _delicious_.

“Manus incarcerous,” she whispered as ropes shot out of her wand to bind Draco’s hands to the arms of his chair. Her body trilled with a rare feeling of physical power over his much larger frame. He wiggled in his bindings, unfamiliar with being caught so out of sorts.

She kept her eyes locked on his as she kneeled before him. Grazing her hands up his inner thighs, she dexterously unfastened his belt and saw his mouth open as wide as his eyes. Shock. Anticipation. An inability to compute her actions fast enough.

With her fingers paused on his zipper, she spoke softly, calmly. “Nod your head if you want me to continue.”

He blinked. Her words finally registering. He nodded then, vigorously, and she smiled. In the moment’s pause between her question and his answer, she felt a surge of desperation, eager to continue what he had started the night before.

The zipper groaned as it crested over the hard length that made his pants tight at the seams. She could feel, rather than hear, Draco take in a deep breath. The silence around them full of anticipation.

Her fingers tucked under the band of his briefs and followed the light trail of pale hair that led her to—

“Oh.”

She gripped him, straining to make her fingertips connect around his hardened girth. She stroked up toward his head before pulling his hard length free from the fabric. She wet her lips when she set eyes on him, all several inches of him, finally.

The movement of his hands wriggling out of the corner of her eye startled her from her daze and her eyes flicked up to meet his. They weren’t wide anymore—hooded, in fact. His initial shock had now faded into something more desperate and intense. Her mouth watered as she looked at him and she felt the sensation travel down lower, soaking her body until it reached her knickers.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this.” Her voice was gravelly and uneven, but her grip was firm. His brow furrowed in confusion and she imagined him thinking fast, distracted by the calculations of exactly how long they had both silently wanted each other.

And then she swiped her tongue up the length of him, shaft to head, her eyes never leaving his. She saw his brows unfurrow and his eyes clear, no longer distracted by thoughts of missed opportunities. She smiled because she knew she had him now.

Tracing the thick ridges of each pulsing vein with her firm tongue, she slowly eased his length into her mouth. When she felt his tip tap the back of her throat, she groaned at how small her mouth felt around him. As her mouth worked back to the tip, she tightened her lips and increased the pressure. She swirled her tongue around his tip before looking up at him, locking her eyes to his as she took him in again. He mouthed “Fuck” before his eyes rolled back and his body finally relaxed into her movements.

She gradually picked up her pace, enjoying the power she felt from making him feel this lost. The more of him she took in, the more her mouth watered, and the more soaked her knickers became. His hands strained against the ropes, desperate, she was sure, to grab onto her hair and control the pace. His body was stiffening and the rise and fall of his chest came in more erratic intervals. He was getting close.

Then, a sound. Reverberating in the distance at the other end of the library. Draco’s head snapped up, eyes panicked. Hermione paused mid-stroke, her mouth still tightly encircling him, listening for evidence of someone else working in the Ministry library on the weekend. Her head remained still, but her tongue continued stroking him. He groaned. She couldn’t hear it, of course, but she knew he had groaned. His eyes pleading with her, _stop torturing me_.

After a few more moments, the silence of the library remained undisturbed. The creak of an old building, perhaps, or a precariously propped book falling on its side. She resumed her oral ministrations and the only sound they could hear was the wetness of her mouth gliding up and down his cock, coaxing his release into her mouth. The power she felt in this moment, giving him pleasure on her terms, was shooting straight into her core.

His hands began struggling wildly against their bindings and his legs went rigid. She looked up at him and read his lips, _I’m going to come_.

She moved faster, up and down, until she felt the warm liquid spill down her throat. After swallowing, her mouth pulled off of him with a pop, a sharp sound that bounced off the edges of the books surrounding them. She placed his length back inside his pants, carefully zipping him back up.

When she looked at him again, her breath caught. His eyes bored into her, trying to communicate with her through the silence. _Your turn_ , he carefully overenunciated with his mouth. It seemed Draco had caught up to her, the orgasm propelling him forward so that he was no longer a few steps behind. He smirked then, confidence returning. Part of her was desperate to maintain the upper hand, while another part—thrumming deeper within her—was eager to relinquish it to him.

But the only one who could release his binds was her. And she decided that she wasn’t quite done yet. She met his smirk with her own and slowly stood up. With her eyes still locked to his, she reached up under her skirt and slowly slid her soaked knickers down her legs. His smirk fell as his eyes followed her hands.

“Well, these are completely ruined,” she whispered as she held them up in front of him. He stared at the dainty green cotton in her hand with longing, as if she had just revealed a long lost treasure. She reached down and stuffed them in one of the pockets of his pants.

“A souvenir,” she said and then winked as she straightened herself to standing.

With a flick of her wand, she turned Draco back to face the table. She gracefully hopped up, feeling the old wooden surface cool the backs of her hot thighs. Shifting herself to sit right in front him, she spread her legs to place one foot on either side of him on the chair’s seat. His eyes widened and she relished how he had no idea what she was about to do next.

She spoke softly as one of her hands lazily caressed her inner thigh, just below the hem of her skirt. “Having your cock inside my mouth was better than how I imagined it.” His eyes briefly closed and if she could hear him, she knew she would have hear him groan.

“And I have imagined it so many times.” Her fingers began trailing circles on the smooth skin of her thigh, imperceptibly moving her fingers further up. “Sucking you off under the table during one of those boring Monday staff meetings. Running my tongue over every inch of you while you take an important floo call in your office.” His eyes were transfixed, following the small movements of her fingers. She began pushing the hem of her skirt slowly upward, revealing more of her skin to him.

“Almost every night, I touch myself thinking about how you would touch me. Would you suck my clit roughly or gently run your tongue along the inside of me. I came so hard thinking about either option.” Her voice was still in a low whisper—they were in a library, after all—and the light movements of her fingers had pulled her skirt up far enough to give her ideal access to the place she really wanted to touch.

His eyes had darkened proportionally with each new inch of skin exposed. With his mouth stuck slightly open, she could see his saliva beginning to pool along the edges of his lips. He wanted this just as much, maybe more, as she did. She felt that surge of power again, this time directed straight at her clit.

Her fingers grazed up her dripping slit to press on her sensitive nub, desperate to relieve the tension building there. She moaned at the contact. His eyes—blown wide and full of frustrated arousal—latched onto hers, now drooping from the pleasure of that first touch. She bit her lip and began rubbing herself in circles, her eyes never leaving his.

“Gods, do you see how fucking wet you make me?” She was panting now, heady with the desire she could see reflected in his eyes. He licked his lips, taking in how her fingers glistened from touching herself to thoughts of him.

“Draco—” Her fingers began speeding up now. At the sound of his name, he looked up. Her face, she knew, was twisting in the pleasure mounting under her fingertips. “Do you want to _feel_ how wet you make me?”

His head lolled to the side in defeat and his eyes watered, telling her wordlessly, _don’t tease me_.

She reached for her wand and with the last conscious thought she had left, panted out two words to end his torture—and hers.

“Finite incantatem.”

The moment the ropes fell away from his hands, Draco lunged forward, gripping her hips with eager hands, and hungrily attached his mouth over her clit. His tongue began tracing the movements her fingers had shown him earlier. They both moaned at the contact.

Without removing his mouth from her, he reached for the wand on the table and whispered, “Silencio,” into her folds. “We’re in a library, Hermione,” he scolded mockingly. The feel of his face twisting into a smirk against the crook of her thighs made her clench. She laid her back against the table, no longer able to hold herself upright. Her head fell against a small stack of books, giving her the perfect view of him skillfully ruining her body for any man who could possibly come after him.

Hermione could feel herself moaning into the silence, but heard no sound. The sensation of his breath cutting through his teeth as he whispered “shh” into her clit between licks had her writhing.

“I knew you would taste good, but, fuck, you taste like heaven,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. She squeezed her thighs against his head, urging him not to dilly-dally.

His tongue left her clit to swipe up her opening, lapping up the juices that had pooled there. Her hands involuntarily moved to his hair and he whispered, “manus incarcerous.” Her arms flew out wide while ropes spooled out from the tip of his wand to tie her hands to the legs at either end of the table. She was flayed out, completely at his mercy.

“Just a little payback,” he cooed into her. His lips were otherwise preoccupied, but his smiling eyes were looking up at her in triumph. Then his eyes roamed down across the rest of her body and his brow furrowed with intensity as they lingered on her breasts.

Abruptly, he removed his mouth from her and with quick, impatient movements, he ripped her blouse open and yanked the cups of her bra down, his eyes pausing just a moment to savor his first glance at what she kept hidden under her clothes. The sudden loss of his tongue licking her towards climax made the tingling coursing through her inner walls that much more acute. It felt like her cunt was fucking _sizzling_ with unmet need.

And then his tongue—his glorious, talented, wicked tongue—swiped along one of her nipples. They both felt the intake of air that would have sounded like a gasp if she could make any sound at all. His mouth then enclosed around her nipple and, after a few determined sucks, he pulled away, evidently pleased to see the hard pebble that had formed. He quickly and efficiently did the same to her other nipple. Satisfied with his work, he sat back down and returned his tongue’s attentions to her other sensitive nub, now throbbing in exasperation and anticipation.

The cool air of the library swept across her hard, exposed nipples, now slightly wet from his attentions. Her arms jerked in their binds and she felt her body wriggle and writhe. Every slight breeze that touched her skin felt like pleasant torture. She felt heat building from within her low abdomen, while a chill pebbled her outer flesh. The warring sensations created a tornado of pleasure spinning her toward release.

He must have known—his ability to be two steps ahead finally working in her favor—and his tongue blissfully sped up to help her reach for what she so desperately needed. In the silence of the room, all she could hear were the naughty, wet sounds of his mouth sloshing against her dripping folds. She looked down at him and his eyes were clamped shut—either in complete focus or lustful abandon, she had no idea—and when he let out a guttural groan, she felt the ripple of its sound hitting her deep. Right. There.

And she screamed. Loudly, though of course no one could hear it. It ripped from her lungs and tore through her throat, trying in vain to communicate the intensity of the orgasm thundering through her limbs. Her back arched and her entire body went still.

She was momentarily lost, unable to think, when she heard a low whisper in her ear. “You are such a naughty, beautiful, perfect woman.” She felt his thumbs brush over her nipples and keened at the mixture of desire and admiration she heard in his voice.

“Now that the cat is out of the bag, I think we should take this somewhere a bit more private to consummate our mutual interest in one another.” He traced his lips lightly up the column of her neck until they met hers and he kissed her. Deeply and with the intensity of a million missed opportunities. Momentarily forgetting her predicament, she made to move her hands so she could trace her hands along his lean frame, but was stymied by her binds.

He broke the kiss and moved his lips to hover near her ear. “I want to get you out of this library so that I can hear you scream my name as you come on my cock. Over and over again. I want you to scream so loud that no silencio could quiet you. And then I want to make you come every day after that.”

She felt her cunt clench at the thought of screaming herself hoarse as he thrust his magnificent length inside of her. And he was offering that—and definitely more than that—to her every day for the foreseeable future.

“What do you say, Granger?”

She turned her head and found his eyes roving over every feature in her face, cataloguing every freckle up close. Her heart swooned when she caught his eyes with hers. Mixed in with desire, hope, and admiration, she saw one fleeting, uncertain look that she knew was asking, _why do you have to torture me like this?_

“Let’s go,” she mouthed slowly so that he could catch each silent word.

The question in his eyes evaporated as he read her lips. He understood her now, loud and clear.

**Author's Note:**

> I went rogue and made up my own version of "incarcerous" that only affects the hands. Sorry if my latin is atrocious.
> 
> Shoutout to everyone who has picked up on the fact that my muse is Ludacris's classic trope-fest "What's Your Fantasy." It is incredible that it took me 4 fics before I tackled the library line. Granger, forgive me!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for spending a bit of your precious time reading my words. I am so grateful!


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